


The Wolf and the Star

by the_melicorn



Series: The Wolf and the Star [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_melicorn/pseuds/the_melicorn
Summary: Remus Lupin and Sirius Black are boyfriends and it's canon. These shorts - spanning the Marauder's 5th year to Harry's 5th year - are proof and I will accept no arguments about it.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: The Wolf and the Star [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709845
Kudos: 7





	1. The Hogwarts Express, 1975: Family Reunions

It wasn’t his fault that Sirius Black was always late.  _ At least, not this time, _ he thought to himself as he shoved his trunk out his bedroom window, flicking his wrist at the last moment so it didn’t smash to bits on the cobblestones. It was September 1st; the clock on his nightstand read 10:37. He was sure that  Walburga had ordered Kreacher not to wake him; he was sure she wasn’t just threatening to lock him in his room for the entire school year.  _ Good thing I spent all that time in the Potter’s library researching loopholes in the Fidelius Charm _ , he thought, and  _ ugh, I sound like Moony, I should tell him _ as he shimmied down the last of the drainpipe, dropped down to the square of Grimmauld place. 

_ Let this work _ he thought, and stuck out his wand. Moments later and a half dozen sickles lighter, he was stuffed into a squashy purple armchair on the Knight Bus. There was a loud BANG! And the chair abruptly fell over and slid across the floor as the bus took off across London. 

Just as abruptly, the bus ground to a halt. 

“King’s Cross!” shouted the porter. Sirius, who had slid back down the length of the bus and bumped into the back of the driver’s seat, extracted himself shakily from the armchair, grabbed his trunk, and ran into the station with a shouted “Never again, thanks!” to the retreating purple bus.

_ Muggles are so slow, _ Sirius thought; he would die of fury and frustration, dragging his trunk behind him, long before he made it to Platform 9 and 3/4. He took the barricade at a full run and arrived, breathless, just as the Hogwarts Express itself was picking up steam. Sirius levitated his trunk and barreled through the milling crowd of families, crashing heedlessly into unsuspecting parents and siblings with cries of “ooop, watch your foot, there’s a good lad. Look alive there! Hogwarts legend coming through! That’s my train!”

“Sirius, you idiot,” yelled a grinning, be-speckled boy, leaning out one of the doors at the end of the train. Grabbing first his best friend’s hand, then the levitating trunk, James Potter hauled them into the carriage at the last possible moment, where the two boys collapsed into a pile. “Cutting it a bit close eh?” 

Sirius let out a barklike laugh and stood, yanking James up after him and embracing him wildly, picking him up and spinning around. They were of equal height, both black haired and wiry from sudden growth; that’s where the physical similarities ended. James was dark-skinned and hazel eyed, sporting a pair of round, silver glasses, his hair stuck up at all angles in a way that suggested he’d just gotten off a broom; Sirius gave the impression of being coiffed, pale and and handsome and aristocratic even in torn black Muggle-style jeans and a his prized black leather jacket. Still, it seemed to those watching (a clutch of soon-to-be-firsties, a gaggle of 4th year Hufflepuff girls, and a grinning Marlene McKinnon, who saluted before walking on) that the two were related somehow. Not brothers, with the difference in their coloring. But still, something to one another, and not afraid who knew it.

“So sorry Jamesie, I know you worry. I had a very serious appointment with my beautician this morning that I just couldn’t postpone, you know how he is about these things. Pines for me when I don’t appear,” Sirius said airily, as he put his friend down. James rolled his eyes and went to smack Sirius, who dodged easily and went to smack him back. A small tussle ensued, interrupted by the arrival of a stout boy with sandy blond hair and watery eyes, who declared, “There you are! You guys left me all alone.”

“Sorry Peter,” said James, breaking Sirius’ hold. “Had to get this dummy on the train. Let’s get a compartment.”

“I am not a dummy,” Sirius replied loftily, levitating his trunk again and ruffling Peter’s hair. “I am a misunderstood genius with a harpy for a mother. Whomst among us could be on time, in such circumstances?”

“I already got one,” Peter Pettigrew informed to two taller boys, ignoring Sirius and jerking his head towards a nearby compartment. He was also dressed in the Muggle fashion, though his jeans were a bit long and the sleeves of his jumper a bit short. “Moony’s off doing prefect stuff but all our crap is here.” The three boys headed into the compartment he indicated, Sirius shooting a final wink at the 4th years, who blushed, as he shut the door behind them.

“That’s the ticket, Pete,” said Sirius, throwing himself down on a seat and stretching his legs. “Who’d you have to jinx to get it?”

“No one yet,” replied Peter, digging through his trunk for something. “Exploding snap, anyone?” 

“Nah,” said James. Peter shrugged and shut the trunk, settling across from him. Sirius had already produced a small top from one of his many pockets and was spinning it on his palm. Sirius was never quite still. His long-fingered hands were constantly in motion, fiddling, turning things over. James was just as bad. He’d produced a snitch from somewhere, and the little golden ball flitted around their compartment, glinting like a surreal bird. 

“You cut your hair,” observed Peter, examining Sirius and looking to James for confirmation. James shrugged, making a face. Sirius’ hair, which just three weeks ago had reached long past his shoulders, was now cropped above his ears. He raked it back with a grimace, but didn’t reply.

“Why were you actually late?” Peter asked Sirius, who grunted, not meeting his eyes. He spun the top again and levitated it a bit, glancing at James to see if he’d marked this bit of wandless magic. “Seriously, you almost missed it. I mean, that’s cutting it close even for you.”

“My mother is a harpy and my father weak to her persuasions,” Sirius replied in his best aristocrat’s drawl. “What can I say?”

“Yeah, but didn’t she have to bring your brother to the platform?” asked Peter.

“Oh my brother. You know how it is. Little Reg is the golden boy these days. Or rather, the green and silver boy. Nothing but early wake up calls and fancy carriage rides to the Kings Cross for the favored son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” replied Sirius, barely disguising his bitterness.

“Yeah, but if you had missed the train how would you get to school? Your parents would have had to bring you,” insisted Peter. Sirius let out another barklike laugh.

“Bring me? Please, Pete. Why waste effort on your blood traitor son when you have a spare? Besides, I made it, didn’t I? No problems for ole Sirius. Let’s play exploding snap, shall we? Loser buys treats,” he declared. 

Peter looked to James, who shrugged in assent but didn’t disguise the worry in his eyes. 

Sirius’ relationship with his family had been on the rocks for as long as the boys had been friends, that first day of first year, starting at the Gryffindor supper table and cemented with an accidental fire (the first of many) in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory - an unprecedented place for the Black family heir to be. The Marauders were used to a simmering resentment between Sirius and his narrow-minded family. But something was different this summer. 

July had been good because Sirius spent it with James; playing pranks on James’ elderly parents, tree climbing and skinny dipping on the Potters’ estate, rambling through the extensive library looking for troublemaking inspiration. Sirius had been at his best: magnetic and magnanimous, with a splash of genius and a flair for talking Eugenia, James’ mother, down from towering fury to chuckling admiration. A brilliant and joyful time which ended three weeks ago, when the Marauders had met in Muggle London, where Remus had introduced the others to coffee shops (plural, because they were kicked out of the first three, though Sirius swore the second time was an accident). Then, Sirius returned to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and no one had heard so much as a peep from him until his arrival today: late, pale, secretive, and insinuating that his family tried to keep him from returning to Hogwarts. Sirius had lost weight, and there were dark circles under his grey eyes. James didn’t like it. James didn’t like it one bit. 

He also knew it was worthless to try and convince Sirius to have a conversation he didn’t want to have, and so he accepted the change of topic for now, holding out his hands for the cards and declaring, “fine but winners decide what the loser buys. You’re not pulling that crap on me again - I still can’t even look at an Every Flavored Bean after the last time…”

5 games of exploding snap, three good natured arguments, and one slightly crumpled snitch later, the compartment door opened to reveal a very tall, gangly boy already dressed in Hogwarts robes, a little short and slightly shabby around the edges. Tawny haired and amber eyed, with three long scars running down his neck, he grinned at the others and asked lightly, “now what trouble are you miscreants up to already?”

“Moony!” cried Sirius, jumping to his feet, showering cards on the other two players (singeing Peter’s eyebrows and James’ shirtsleeve), and tackling the newcomer, who stumbled back only a step or two before gently pushing Sirius into the compartment and shutting the door neatly behind them. After an elaborate exchange of handshakes, hugs, hair rufflings, and cheerful insults, the four Marauders settled back down; James and Peter on one side of the compartment, Sirius across from James, legs flung over an amused Remus’ lap.

“Must you always be touching someone, Sirius?” he asked. Sirius grinned at him. Remus frowned, abruptly, and the grin slid off Sirius’ face.

“What?” he demanded. “My eyebrows aren’t singed are they? Though I’m sure  _ I _ could pull it off.” He glanced at Peter, who flushed scarlet and reached up to touch his blackened brows. 

“Your hair,” replied Remus, faintly. “You cut it?”

“Oh that,” said Sirius, flapping a hand at him as though it were no matter. It was quite short in the back and longer in front, where it fell in Sirius’ eyes. Remus had never seen it that short. Sirius brushed it out of his face with a flourish. “It’s nothing. Needed a bit of a change.”

“Ah, so I see we’ve begun lying to each other,” said Remus sagely, nodding.

“That’s right,” piped in James, sensing an opportunity. “Sirius needed a change and so did I, which is why I will be spending this year in pursuit of my longtime love, Snivellius. There’s just something about having a slimy git in your life that makes you really  _ feel _ the wonder of being alive.”

“Kind of like having a toad for a pet,” added Peter.

“Toads aren’t slimy,” said James.

“A frog then,” amended Peter.

“Ah yes, new pets, new hair, new romances,” said Remus.

“The dream of reinvention. To be 16! And alive!” declared James.

“You’re not 16 yet,” Peter pointed out, in his most helpful voice.

“But I will be!” replied James. “For we are 5th years now and I will be a different man, because I fancy myself a change, just like Sirius.”

“Alright, alright, enough, I get it,” complained Sirius, flinging his little fidgety top at James, who caught it easily. “I didn’t cut it, Walburga did. Alright? It’s… kind of a long story.”

“Does it explain why every single letter we sent you in the last 3 weeks has been returned, unopened?” asked Remus, raising an eyebrow. Sirius would never willingly let his mother cut his hair; as far as Remus knew, Sirius hadn’t ever willingly let anyone cut his hair. Not since he’d lost that bet to James - but that had been back in third year and, according to Sirius, worth both the haircut and the detentions to see all those giggling Hufflepuffs bouncing ever so gently down the hall.

“It’s not unrelated,” admitted Sirius. The other three exchanged a Look, but before anyone spoke the compartment door slid open again, revealing unpleasantly familiar faces: a sneering, pale girl and a rather jittery, tall boy, both inexplicably wearing green silk turbans, flanked by several more students in Slytherin-colored Hogwarts robes. All four Marauders jumped to their feet - Remus hit his head on the luggage rack and cursed softly. 

“All the scum in one spot,” spat the boy, Rastaban LeStrange. He was 7th year and vaguely related to Sirius - by marriage? Through his brother? Remus wasn’t sure. He was also nasty, which all four Marauders knew from painfully personal experience.

Sirius, grinning manically, stepped forward and flung his arms out as if to embrace the girl, ignoring Rastaban entirely. 

“Cousin Cissy! Sooooo good to see you,” Sirius lisped, mocking. “Aren’t you looking  _ radiant _ today. I just have to know what you’re putting on your skin. And the turban! It’s  _ quite _ a look but I just don’t think it does your complexion justice, darling.”

“Stop right there, blood traitor,” the girl, Narcissa Black, snarled. Also a 7th year but smaller than Sirius, she took a step back to avoid his arms and trod on someones foot, setting off a round of grumbling amongst the Slytherins behind her. Sirius estimated there were only 3 or 4 of them; the Marauders were barely outnumbered.

“Harsh words for a man just trying to greet a dear, dear relation,” said Sirius, saccharine.

“And just when Sirius here was saying  _ such _ good things about your new beauty routine, Narcissa.” James took over, equally sweet, picking up, somehow, on some clue from Sirius that Remus had missed. “I bet Lucius is all compliments; you’re looking truly stunning. Although I have to say, I, too, miss the sight of your luscious locks. I’m truly pining for a glimpse of them.” 

Remus rubbed his aching head and gripping his wand. Peter, he noticed, had edged his way completely behind the other three boys and was pressed against the window, out of view of their visitors. 

“You stay out of it, blood-traitor,” Narcissa snapped at James now, who feigned confusion.

“Moi? A blood traitor? To whomst’s blood? Last I checked, my dear old mum and dad were right proud of their big, strong boy. I’m gonna be Quidditch captain this year, you know.”

“We’re not here to talk to you, Potter,” snapped Rastaban. “We’re here for Black, and he knows why. Undo your spell, or you’ll never set foot in a Black family gathering again.”

“Oh No,” replied Sirius, still mocking. “Whatever shall I do without stupid pureblood parties?”

“Think about it, Black,” snapped Narcissa. “Aunt Walburga will be furious when she finds out you’ve disobeyed her and gone back to Hogwarts on top of your stupid prank. Think about what Uncle Orion will say. Think about what  _ Granddad  _ will say.”

“I happen to think they’ll be quite proud. It is, after all, quite a good bit of magic, if I do say so myself. Apparently still working after three days. I wonder how dear old Aunt Lucerita is faring. Or your own dear father, Cissy. I bet he just loves how you’re all sporting House colors all the time now,” said Sirius.

“You idiot,” said Rastaban, advancing. He poked Sirius in the chest. “This is not one of your stupid jokes. This is about blood and pride. Do you have no shame?”

“Hmmmm,” replied Sirius. It occurred to Remus that he was enjoying himself. “You know, I think I must have misplaced all my shame. You seen it, mate?” he asked, turning to James.

“You know,” said James, “I think you might have left it back on the platform. Or maybe in your other pockets? So hard to keep track of, that shame.”

“Oh I know!” said Sirius. James turned to him fully, feigning absorption. Remus could see that both boys in profile, both with their wands in hand, held away from the Slytherins. Something passed between them. Sirius’ grin grew a bit eviler. “I must have left my shame back in your mother’s bedroom, Rastaban!”

Rastaban screwed up his face in fury and reached for his wand, just as James and Sirius together shouted “Accio turbans!” The absurd green silk flew right off the older students’ heads, revealing hair that was noxiously, glowingly, unflatteringly green. There was a gasp from the Slytherins and a squeak from Peter. Remus let out a heavy sigh. This explained quite a bit. He gripped his wand more tightly - this wasn’t the best place for a duel, and he wasn’t excited about starting his year as a prefect (strange and unlikely miracle, that Dumbledore would trust a  _ werewolf _ to be a  _ prefect _ ) with a fight before they even stepped foot on the Hogwarts grounds. Still, best mates were best mates, and it wasn’t their fault that the Slytherins were spoiling for a fight.  _ I mean it is, a bit Sirius’ fault, _ thought Remus.  _ But only the usual amount _ . 

James spoke first.

“Wow, you both look _just_ _stunning_. Such house pride. I bet ole Sluggy is going to be thrilled.”

“You. Will. Pay. For this,” gritted out Rastaban. His face had turned an alarming shade of puce and he reached into his robes for his wand with a hand that shook.

“You know,” said Sirius thoughtfully, “I don’t think I will. I’d be happy to pay it  _ forward _ though. Would you like some tentacles to match your beautiful tresses? I think I can manage that color again though I can’t guarantee they’ll stick around so long. You know how experimental magic goes.”

“Ooooh,” said James. “Face or finger tentacles? Or feet, I suppose, could work. Hmm, they’d have to be pretty strong to hold you up though…”

There was a familiar booming laugh from the corridor at this, and Remus felt his knees go weak with relief. Just past the Slytherins he could make out just the top of Marlene McKinnon’s legendary afro; Marlene was a Gryffindor, and Head Girl, and not one to mess with. The others spotted her too.

“Marlene!” yelled Sirius. “Is that you darling? Here to visit your favorite house-mates?”

“I’ve actually got my favorite house-mates out here already, you delinquent. We were just looking for the trolley when our path was blocked. Now I’m assuming that no one is stirring up trouble this early in the year. Were you kind folks just leaving?” this last directed at the Slytherins, who had clumped together in the hallway. Narcissa was already shaking her head, one hand on Rastaban’s wand arm to restrain him. 

“We were already gone,” she snapped, gathering her dignity the way Remus had seen Sirius do. He wondered if it was something the Black family taught all their children. “Let’s go somewhere the stink of blood scum isn’t so thick in the air.” And without another word she swept out of the cabin, through the confused crowd of onlookers, and off down the train. Rastaban shot the Marauders a final, venomous look before following, flanked by his lackeys.

Marlene’s favorite house-mates turned out to be the Prewett brothers - Gideon and Fabian, also 7th years and Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The three exchanged hellos and handshakes with the Marauders (and promises to talk Quidditch at length later) before also heading off to find the trolley.

“Try not to start too many kerfuffles before we get there,” was Marlene’s final warning as they set off again.

All four Marauders threw themselves down in their seats - a gesture so synchronized you wouldn’t believe it was unrehearsed. It was the sigh of a joke well enjoyed, settling down in their souls. Rastaban and Narcissa and the other Slytherins were so vehemently disdainful, it was such a pleasure to get under their skin. Even better to do it clean - no fight, no consequences.

“So you turned everyone - every single member of the House of Black - all the hairs on all of their heads, green?!” asked Remus finally, putting it together, not bothering to disguise the awe in his voice. Sirius was always more talkative when he thought he was impressing you. 

“Yeah, everyone who was at the dinner. Too bad there’s not that many at Hogwarts this year. Those two and my brother are it, I think. I can’t wait to see how it ages,” said Sirius. He looked smug. Sirius was, ironically, a testament to his aristocratic bloodline; sometimes Remus thought he had the most raw power of any young wizard alive (save James, of course).

“That’s  _ BRILLIANT _ ,” breathed James.

“Goddamn,” said Peter.

“And it’s been like that for three days?” Remus pressed. He could never help trying to find the edges of a problem. It’s what made him such a good prankster.

“Yeah, I reckon it’s been about three days since the dinner party. That’s why dear old mum shaved my head,” said Sirius.

“Psh.”

“Looks a little long for that, mate.”

“Well I grew back as much as I could this morning.”

“This morning!?”

“No wonder it’s so sad, you never were a morning person.”

“Yeah, before I snuck out of the house.”

“Did you use the drainpipe?” 

“Wait, what James? You helped plan this?”

“Oh so that’s why you almost missed the train”

“It was an endless drainpipe, I didn’t realize it would take so long.”

“That’s cause you’re out of shape”

“Oh stuff it, you get trapped in your room for three weeks and tell me what kind of shape you’re in you dumb jock.”

“Ha, well I’m glad that worked, flabby arms. Hmm, I wonder if I nicked that book…”

“Which book?”

“Brilliant book of my dad’s Moony you’ll love this, it’s got all this cool stuff about maps and location-based spells.”

“It was dead useful, mate. Snuck out right under the Fidelius Charm.”

“What’s a Fidelius Charm?”

“Your family has a Fidelius Charm on your house?”

“Of course they do! They don’t trust anyone but themselves, incestuous little buggers.”

“Gits.”

“Wankers.”

“Skint-nosed pricks.”

“Moth-ridden sons of flobberworms.”

“Doxie-laden stinking bogs.”

“Alright, alright, we get it, the Noble and Most Pissy House of Snobs continues to find new ways to be close-minded and secretive,” said Remus, interrupting James and Sirius. They were easily distracted. “Peter, a Fidelius Charm is meant to keep the location of a place secret, but it actually has a bunch of weird side effects, including that it makes it really hard to leave that place if you’re confined there. Which is why Sirius had to sneak out…?”

Remus looked over as Sirius nodded in confirmation. The dark haired boy had settled across the compartment, against the window, legs thrown over James this time, which Remus knew Sirius knew irked James, who had a thing about other people’s feet. It never really bothered Remus that Sirius liked to be touching semi-constantly. He thought perhaps it was a side effect of Sirius’ touchless early childhood. Sirius now had his head tilted back against the window, James’ stolen snitch glittering absurdly above his left ear like a totem, surveying his audience with lively grey eyes, mouth upturned at Remus’ joke. He’d changed a bit again, Remus noticed. Something about the angles of his face. It was hard to say.

“Exactly,” Sirius said. “The house is Unplottable too, and some other stuff. Anyway, what matters is that a good shimmy down the drainpipe did it. I slipped right out from under all mother dearest’s wards. Kreacher is gonna be furious. My father is gonna be furious. Walburga is gonna be incandescent with rage.” Sirius grinned hugely at the thought. James and Peter grinned back. Remus frowned.

“This doesn’t answer the question why you turned everyone’s hair green. Or how, come to think about it. Or why you didn’t respond to any of our letters for three weeks if this big family dinner was just three days ago - I wrote you the day after…” here Remus broke off abruptly, blushing. Sirius swung his legs back down to the floor and leaned forward, gesturing with his hands. The other three leaned in, unconsciously.

“Well,” said Sirius, with the air of someone conferring a great secret. “I’ve been experimenting with Sticking Charms.”

There was a moment of tense silence and then James burst out laughing, rocking backwards and loudly cackling. After a moment Sirius started too, shaking his head, and Peter joined with a few giggles, and even the bewildered Remus began to chuckle. James was positively  _ howling,  _ clutching his side and muttering “experimenting” “with sticking charms” in between gales, and Sirius was leaning on his shoulder, trying to catch his breath to keep going.

“Yes,” he said, trying and failing to summon his dignity, “ _ sticking charms, _ ” which set James off again, tears rolling down his face, but Sirius ignored him and continued. 

“Yes, my dear Moony, I have been  _ experimenting _ with  _ sticking charms _ by sticking up Gryffindor banners and all those Muggle pictures of motorbikes and girls in the wossnames, biki-ninis, and so my dear mother confined me to said room when she discovered said photographs were said stuck-eth. Because of the sticking charms. So I decided to experiment. With the sticking charms. Sticking charm experiments.” James’ chuckles, which had been winding down, started up again.

“Did you break him?” asked Peter, eyeing James with amusement.

“He was already broken,” breezed Sirius. “Anyway, in my experiments I discovered that if you bend them left, Permanent Sticking Charms go all greeny.”

“What does that even mean?” asked Remus, amused. They’d been through this many times before. It was near impossible to recreate any new magic Sirius stumbled on because Sirius tasted magic, or smelled it, or saw it like a painter would a palette. Describing his spell modifications was useless to someone who didn’t share his senses.

“You know, greeny. Chartreuse.” 

“What’s chartreuse?”

“It’s kind of a golden lime.”

“More like a new leaf.”

“More like Evan’s eyes.”

“Blech.”

“Time! Way before 4 PM. Damn.”

“That’s right, pay up.” Peter and Remus each handed a silver sickle to Sirius, who pocketed them, winked at the affronted James, and said “thanks, mate,” before continuing.

“So anyway, I was home, poor little Sirius, stuck in my room with no owls from my fellow Marauders to keep me company, just Kreacher’s ugly mug once a day with not nearly enough food, and so I decided in for a Knut, in for a Galleon with the sticking charms and I just started playing with them, you know, bending them left and right and trying to see what else I could, you know, stick with them, metaphorically. 

“And, in my defense, it was all in the name of prank research for school, I didn’t intend to use it on my whole extended family! But, you know, there’s the big Black family dinner we always host before the youths return to Hogwarts when everyone threatens each other politely and talks about who will be making babies next, so they can generate enough venom to survive till Christmas? Anyway, there they all were, dressed their snobbiest and talking their vile Slytherin blood purity garbage all self-congratulatory and I was sitting next to Bellatrix and her stupid husband - Rastaban’s brother, you know, the one who looks like a mossy rock, what’s his name - anyway, Bellatrix started to fuck with me. And I knew she was doing it but she just makes me so mad. She wasn’t even talking to me but she was just yakking away to that dumb lump of hers about how blood traitors are worse than Mudbloods because when you kill a Mudblood you don’t reduce the breeding pool - swear to Merlin, she said it - and you know how I get when they start talking about using me to squeeze semen out of to make little pure babies so I started to argue with her but she wouldn’t even look at me!” Sirius took a breath. 

“So then there was some yelling and I  _ might _ have accused her of being nothing but the follower of a loser with incestuous beliefs who isn’t even pureblood himself - all true! Mind you, all true - and then Walburga started to steam and some of my uncles got their wands hands twitching and my brain froze up and all I could think of was Experimental Sticking Charms but it blew up  _ much _ bigger than I’d intended so everyone got the green hair, not just Bellatrix and then obviously I got thrown out of dinner into my room to starve for three days and then I shimmied down the drainpipe and that about brings it up to today. Oh did I mention that Walburga shouted at me through the door that I was never going back to Hogwarts? She shouted through the door I was never going back to Hogwarts but she is SO WRONG,” Sirius shouted, jumping to his feet at the conclusion of his tale, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Remus blinked up at him.

“So when did she shave your hair?” he asked, compulsively, hating himself a little bit.

“Oh that. She actually ordered Kreacher to do it. The night of the dinner. I ordered him to shut his hands in the oven after, though.” The dark haired boy sat back down with a fwump.

“Sirius!” scolded Remus. “That’s not kind.”

Sirius shrugged. “He punishes me, I get him back. Did you not hear the part about him  _ shaving my precious hair! _ ”

“Well it looks good now,” said Remus, eyeing it. It was hard to get hair to grow in reasonable amounts - much easier to wind up with enough to escape a tower with.  _ Which, _ Remus thought,  _ might have actually come in handy for Sirius this morning _ . He grinned at the thought. Sirius grinned back. 

“Why thank you. I couldn’t return to Hogwarts looking all scraggly and bedraggled. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know. I’m sure I can grow it all back by Halloween,” he said, running his hands through it again.

“Does that conclude Moony’s Inquisitorial Gamut?” asked James, mock-gravely, wiping his spectacles on his sleeve, finally recovered from his fit of giggles. Remus nodded. James clapped Sirius on the shoulder. “Well done mate. Really spiffing. Truly a brilliant bit of spell work. And a Marauderly exit.”

“Add it to the books,” said Sirius, yawning. “Where’s the cart? I’m starving. James owes me all the Cauldron Cakes I can eat.”

“Do not!” replied James indignantly. “Peter agreed, you were cheating!”

“How dare you!” began Sirius, and the compartment descended into bickering about who was owed what, with not a further word, Remus noticed, to the series of disturbing punishments that their friend had so narrowly escaped.

James did, indeed, buy Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties for them (though he flatly refused to buy anything else, so it was Sirius who left and returned with a stack of chocolate frogs, to Remus’ delight). Once all 4 boys were sufficiently satiated (for now, at least - they are teenagers), they set about the business at hand: prank planning.

“Well there’s always exploding the pumpkins again,” offered Peter, remembering their most successful Halloween prank to date. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“We are  _ not _ repeating pranks. It is beneath us as Marauders,” he scoffed. Peter frowned but said nothing. Sirius continued, “besides, it’s far too early to be talking about Halloween. What I want to know is if the Animagus potion is ready yet.”

Remus groaned.

“Not this again. You guys, seriously, it’s not happening. It’s far too dangerous.”

“Nonsense,” said James. “If Minnie can do it, we can certainly do it.”

“You mean you can certainly do it,” added Peter, glumly. 

“No I mean we, including you, can do it,” said James, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Or we will have spent all that time in the Library and stolen all those potions ingredients from Sluggy all for nothing. Can’t be wasting our time like that!”

“Exactly. It would be an utter  _ waste _ of our unending hours of toil, not to mention our incomprehensible brilliance, to stop now, Moony,” said Sirius. He was positively glowing. “I better be something cool, like a bear or a lion. Or a gryphon!”

“Animagi are regular animals, not magical ones,” Remus pointed out, unable to help himself. 

“Well maybe I’ll be the first magical Animagus,” Sirius replied. 

“Maybe you’ll be a dung beetle and we’ll carry you around in a little glass jar so your big head doesn’t get stepped on and squashed,” suggested James.

“Watch, I’ll be something stupid like a ferret. Or a bunny rabbit. No help at all,” said Peter.

“Imagine being a frog? Or a turtle? Or a  _ rat _ ?” Sirius asked, shuddering. “No, thank you. No, I’m sure we’ll all be something grand. Appropriately noble. Like a panther.”

“What is it with you and big cats?” asked Remus. “You don’t even like cats.”

“I like Minnie McG just fine!”

“What about a mean house cats like the one Evan’s has got?”

“It doesn’t count when they’re mean!”

“What if you were a kitten cause we’re still kids?”

“What if you were actually a kid? Like a goat? Get it?”

“Ughhhh that’s weak James.”

“Laaaaame.”

The four lapsed into contemplatory silence. Sirius’ knee was bouncing. James snaked out an arm and caught the snitch, released it, caught it again. Peter looked despondent. Remus felt anxious, but powerless to stop them. They really did mean to attempt this extremely complex bit of illegal magic; knowing James and Sirius they would manage it too. The two of them approached magic as if it were a game to win and they had a championship title to uphold: get it done, by any means necessary. They were brilliant, talented, and supremely stubborn. 5 years into their friendship and Remus couldn’t believe his good luck that they wanted to use that brilliance and talent to help him. He didn’t deserve it. 

“Where’s the potion hidden again?” asked Peter abruptly. “Was it behind the statue of Bartok the Barmy?”

“No it’s the bust of Bathesda the Brilliant,” said James, yawning.

“You mean the witch with the hump?” asked Sirius.

“On the 5th floor,” ventured Peter.

“No, the 3rd floor charms corridor,” replied Sirius.

“No, that’s the tunnel to Hogsmeade, remember?” said James. “The one that opens into Honeydukes.”

“Ugh, how am I supposed to become an Animagus if I can’t even keep all the secret hiding places straight?” complained Peter. “The castle should come with a damn map.”

“You should know your way around by now Petie,” said Sirius, conveniently ignoring his own mix-up. “I mean it has been years, keep up.”

“Wait a second,” said James, waving away Peter’s reply. The smaller boy shut his mouth and looked at James expectantly. James snapped his fingers. “What was that again? A map?”

Silence, as they all looked at each other. Sirius broke out in a grin Remus knew meant  _ trouble _ . His guts squeezed.

“A  _ Marauder’s _ Map,” breathed Sirius.

“With all the secret hiding places,” said James.

“And the kitchen.”

“The shortcuts.”

“All the tunnels out, obviously.”

“And a warning system for when Filch is coming.”

“Or Mrs. Norris.”

“Or Peeves, the git.”

“Or any teacher, really.”

“Or anyone at all! Hang on!” James dove abruptly for his trunk and began rummaging through it. Peter turned to Remus, who shrugged, feeling himself smile. The air in the compartment had become electric. This was how all their best pranks began: James and Sirius caught fire. The only thing to do was feed the flames and, perhaps, make sure there was a bucket of water handy.

“Ah HA!” James shouted triumphantly, holding a slim blue volume in his hand. “I did bring it!”

“Yes!” yelled Sirius, pumping a fist in the air. “Marauder’s Map! Marauder’s Map!”

“Let me see that,” said Remus, holding out his hand for the book. James passed it over. Flipping through it, Remus, too, started to get excited.

“Location-based spells, eh? This just might work,” he muttered, scanning. “You know this is a much grander scale than anything this book suggests? We’re talking about a spell powerful enough to determine the location of all of the hundreds of students and dozens of teachers in the castle at any given time - not to mention ghosts! And poltergeists? And cats, if we want it to track Mrs. Norris but then will it track all cats? Maybe there’s a certain amount of personhood that can be a threshold… And we’re going to have to map a bunch of the art, cause it functions as doorways... And the staircases! The vanishing steps are going to make me pull my hair out… Oh, actually this one’s clever. You can use glass in the ink to connect to the magic of the windows so you don’t have to hand-draw  _ each and every window of the castle Hogwarts.  _ Do you have any idea how difficult this is going to be?” Remus asked, looking up. James was nodding along in the way that meant he was only half-listening, already digging parchment and quills and ink out of his trunk, handing them to Peter. Sirius was watching Remus, positively glittering with excitement. He grabbed both of Remus’ hands, knocking the book to the ground.

“But we got this, right Moony? We’re the most brilliant students Hogwarts has ever seen? Doesn’t she deserve this tribute to her twisty, confusing, intricate beauty?” he asked, giving Remus his best puppy-dog eyes. 

It wasn’t that Sirius  _ needed _ Moony’s approval. It was just Moony’s approval made everything easier. Watching him read through the book, hair falling in his face, biting his lip in concentration, Sirius could almost hear the gears clicking in that brilliant brain of his. And the questions! Remus always asked the right question to get at manifesting the magic. Who cares about which cats have personhood? Only Remus could think of that. Without him, there was no foundation. His hands were surprisingly calloused, fingernails bit to the quick. Their eyes met - grey to amber.

“It’s gonna be difficult,” Remus said, finally nodding, somehow, agreeing to this impossible plan, and it was really happening because Sirius was beaming at him and he, Remus, was withdrawing his hands, reaching for the book, bubbling with questions. The back of his neck was hot.

“Well first we’ll have to start charting what we know before we can enchant anything…”

They spent the rest of the ride tossing ideas around, scribbling notes, and arguing, occasionally interrupted by friends and passers-by who were greeted cheerfully and hastily shuffled back from whence they came. Dark had fallen outside the window when the Marauders were interrupted for the final time. The compartment door slid open and all four boys jumped; Peter upended a jar of ink all over the draft they’d started. James, seeing who was at the threshold, blushed scarlet and began siphoning away the spilled ink with his wand. 

Standing in the doorway was a tall, freckled girl with dark red hair and almond-shaped green eyes, dressed in Hogwarts robes in Gryffindor colors. She had a small “P” badge pinned to her chest; her expression was one of equal parts exasperation and mild amusement. James sat up and mussed his hair, trying to catch her eye, obviously wanting to see if she’d been impressed by his nonverbal spell. She ignored him, and held out a hand to Remus.

“You left this at the prefect meeting,” said Lily Evans. “We’re almost to Hogsmeade; I figured you’d need it.” 

She dropped a badge like hers into Remus’ hand; he murmured thanks. Sirius snatched it and made a scene of pinning it to the front of Remus’ robes, clucking at him like a proud mother. Lily hid a smile behind one hand.

“Haircut, Sirius?” she asked, green eyes innocent.

“What’s it to you, Evans? Does it strike your fancy?” he replied, batting his lashes at her and raking his hair back out of his eyes.

“Dorcas owes me a sickle,” she said, not trying to hide her smile anymore.

“Why?” asked Remus.

“She bet that Sirius would never cut his hair again after that thing with the Hufflepuffs,” she said. Remus grinned and Sirius, to his surprise, blushed faintly.

“And what did you bet?” asked Remus. 

“Never’s a long time,” said Lily, grinning. James sighed, a little hopelessly.

“Go out with me Evans?” he blurted. Everyone, Lily included, rolled their eyes.

“Never,” she said, disappearing behind the compartment door.

James groaned and buried his face in his hands. Sirius slapped him on the back. 

“At least she didn’t hex you this time,” offered Peter. “It’s almost progress.”

“Yeah,” muttered James faintly, “almost.”

“Cheer up, mate,” said Sirius, slapping him again. “It’s a brand new year. Never say die, eh?”

“That’s not what she said at all,” said Remus.

“Tomato-tomahto, my dear Moony. This year is gonna be our best yet, you’ll see,” said Sirius, slinging an arm around Remus’ shoulder. Both boys were surprised to find that Remus was the taller of them, now. Not that it was a bad thing. Just... unexpected.

Things had been steady for so long; pranks, school, magic, surviving the moon and toxic family. Remus felt comforted by the routine. But he could feel things speeding up, escalating out of his control. The magic was getting complex and the consequences, he was sure, would be too - maybe even more than they could handle. He felt a bubbling in his gut that could be anxious, could be excitement, could be something else. Then Sirius tilted his face up and grinned at him, a quick, private smile, magnetic and sure, and somehow, despite everything, Remus believed him.


	2. Halloween, 1975: The Prank, the Shack, and the Grim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Maraduers take a new approach to pranking; James has ideas; it's Sirius' birthday, basically; Peter is not dancing; Remus wears himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a playlist! Listen here ---> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1b1qdEWaet8wi0wgP3TGFa?si=HCPi9SbCTXO7bBDTSJqs0Q

“The prank is ‘There Is No Prank’,” said James, grinning as wide as the pumpkin before him. The Great Hall glittered with Halloween Feast; candles guttered in hundreds of jack-o-lanterns, bats fluttered and orange streamers waved gently overhead. The tables groaned under the weight of all the goodies heaped on them and the mood was generally festive with an underlying twanging tension, not least at the head of the Gryffindor table.

“Get it?” said James.

“Yeah, mate,” said Peter. 

“We get it,” said Remus. 

“Ugh,” said Sirius.

“It’s brilliant,” James insisted. Sirius, draped over the table between his plate and Remus’, heaved a sigh.

Remus actually agreed with James on this one; There Is No Prank was brilliant, with the added bonus of not being detention-worthy. Since he’d been appointed Prefect, Remus had felt a sharp uptick in guilt about the pranks he aided and abetted as a Marauder; in the grand scheme of things, There Is No Prank was much better than Swap Slughorn’s Hat for a Haddock (Wednesday in Double Potions; rousing success), Can You Hit Mrs. Norris From Here With a Kipper? (yesterday after breakfast; James could), or Is the Venomous Tentacula Ticklish? (this morning in Herbology; absolutely not). In the last week he’d assisted, witnessed, and successfully mopped up all these Marauderly pursuits, despite the tiny voice of guilt in his head that sounded a lot like a disappointed Dumbldore. There Is No Prank had a kind of beauty to it; a testament to their four years’ record of mischief managed. It was Remus’ favorite part of James’ Big Halloween Plan. 

Certainly it was better than the detention they’d just served - pickling ingredients for Slughorn, slimy and boring, as the Potions master ignored Remus and Peter to regale James and Sirius with stories of the famous students who’d pranked him in their time at Hogwarts, and the gifts they sent him recently. Still, it wasn’t the worst punishment they’d ever suffered, and Slughorn let them off in time for the feast (Filch would never), which was spectacular, especially without the threat of more detention hanging over their collective heads. The rest of the plan worried Remus immensely, but that was later, there was still time to talk them out of it. This was the bit to enjoy.

But then here was Sirius, and it tugged at Remus the way he looked like a puppy that had been kicked. His hair had gotten long again, and trailed alarmingly close to Remus’ pudding, as glossy black as a crow’s wing. He wondered if Sirius was still working spells on it. 

“Do you think you’ll survive the feast?” he asked, poking the other boy in the back of the head and grinning when Sirius sighed again. 

“I just can’t believe we’re just going to sit here and eat pumpkin foods and do nothing,” moaned Sirius, straightening up now that someone had taken his bait.

“You agreed to this,” pointed out Remus. “Just this morning at breakfast you said it would be brilliant.”

“Listen, Moony, this is not about breakfast. This is about the tragically prank-less Halloween feast unfolding around us in real time! It’s all regular-sized bats and non-exploding pumpkins!”

“I thought repeating pranks was beneath us,” piped in Peter.

“Anything would be better than this, this, no prank!”

“Nah mate, the prank is that  _ There Is No Prank _ ,” insisted James. Sirius looked ready to slam his head into the table.

“James Fleamont Potter I swear on Merlin’s stinking armpit, if you tell me one more time that the prank is there’s no prank I will personally rain pumpkins down upon you until you are crushed into a pumpkiny, orange goo, you pompous git,” snarled Sirius.

“He’s at 16 for the day,” said Peter, their de facto bookkeeper, checking his notes.

“Don’t remind him,” said Remus, who had the under on 20.

“But it’s going brilliantly!” said James, unbothered. “Look at how nervous all the Slytherins are! And Minnie is practically twitching with anticipation!”

A group of Slytherins were engaged in an argument that included a lot of gesturing towards the end of the Gryffindor table where the Marauders sat, conspicuously (Narcissa was in the mix, her hair pale hair still slightly green where the candles glinted off it), and Minerva McGonagall was, in fact, glancing towards them every few minutes with increasingly ill-disguised suspicion. James waved at her, jauntily. Sirius groaned. 

“And for what!?” he demanded, slamming a hand on the table, making Peter jump. “No payoff! Just a regular feast, with no explosions and no pumpkin guts and no giant bats.”

“I thought they were starlings,” said Remus, remembering.

“Well they were supposed to be bats.”

“But they weren’t bats.”

“Well starlings are spooky too, okay Moony?! Bats are harder to conjure than birds.”

“Why are birds easier to conjure than anything else?” asked Remus compulsively.

“Snakes and birds, Mr. Lupin, snakes and birds,” replied Sirius, dropping into a pitch-perfect McGonagall impression.

James interrupted the two of them grinning at each other by flinging a bit of pumpkin pie at Sirius, who ducked; it hit an older Hufflepuff behind him, who, turning around to see who threw that, took cover under the table. James took no notice and continued:

“The POINT,” he said, “is that we don’t even have to do anything and the whole school is twitching like Filch at a fireworks show! All those years we toiled, engorging gourds, Summoning small mammals, making things sticky. All that bird shit cleanup!? It was labor, my boys, and we did it, year after year, Halloween after Halloween, between detentions and dungbomg shortages we persisted. And now, we reap the grain of our labor. Or is it the chaff?”

“Is chaff even a word?” asked Peter.

“Pretty sure the chaff is the waste,” said Remus.

“You’re a pain in my chaff, Potter,” said Sirius.

“We will reap the good part,” James insisted, undeterred, waggling his eyebrows conspiratorially. Peter cast Muffliato on the second-years sitting next to them, glancing at James and Sirius to see if they noticed; Remus noticed Peter liked to show off when he’d learned a new charm. This one was handy, he had to admit. James was the worst with a secret, even when the secret was one that he, himself, originated. “We will keep the whole school awake all night, wondering,  _ well maybe all those detentions got to them, maybe the Marauders gave up pranking, _ tossing and turning and the next thing they know - BLAMO! Prank accomplished. But they won’t know. Because, you know. It’s a secret. But still, if a prank falls in the forest and no one hears it it’s still a damn good prank. A man’s prank!” 

He thumped one fist on the table and puffed out his chest, reaching up to muss his hair. Remus saw him glancing down the table to where Lily sat.

“Well, I don’t want to be a man,” said Sirius, leaning his head on Remus’ shoulder and lifting a dejected fork to his pumpkin pie, “if being a man is just sitting around and doing  _ nothing _ . I can’t believe you would do this to me on my  _ birthday _ .”

“It’s not actually your birthday,” pointed out Peter.

“Sure it is.”

“Not technically for three days.”

“Not technically my left tit, Peter. It’s basically my birthday and my mates don’t even care, they’ll just let me waste away on the best holiday and also Halloween.”

“That’s your third piece of pie.”

“And it is going in your HAIR if you try and touch it-”

“None of you are civilized enough to enjoy my brilliance,” said James, “so I will take it elsewhere- Oi! Evans! Happy Halloween!”

He stood up and walked down the table, plopping himself between Frank Longbottom and Lily Evans, who pointedly ignored him to continue talking to Dorcas Meadows about Unlocking Spells. The other Marauders let him go. Sometimes, being friends with James was like trying to keep a very insistent, very clever pest animal off your lawn - no matter how many times you shoo them away they keep coming back. The only way to catch a break is to let them go at it for a while, unsupervised.

After the feast, the Marauders set up before the common room fire and sat conspicuously drinking butterbeers and playing Gobstones for several hours with anyone who drifted by, before disappearing up to their dorm just before midnight. 

If you had asked the other Gryffindors what they thought the foursome were up to, you would have gotten mixed answers - trouble or repentance or boredom or plotting. Whatever they thought, however James’ predictions of sleeplessness plagued them or not, despite the holiday, the Common Room was blessedly empty nearly an hour later when the Marauders returned, huddled under the Invisibility Cloak.

The cloak, which had once housed all four boys so comfortably in its voluminous folds, now reached only to their collective knees, revealing shuffling teenage feet to the world. They had compensated by casting Disillusionment Charms on each other; only someone looking closely in the darkness could make out a roiling in the pattern of the world where their teenage shins and ankles traversed it. 

Still, it was a harrowing journey through the sleeping castle. Thanks to a stroke of pure luck they dodged Peeves, who emerged suddenly from a classroom covered in chalk dust, (though Peter got stuck in a Vanishing step, ruining their perfect clean escape), then down through the Great Hall and out the doors and across the grounds to the Whomping Willow. There was another anxious moment while James threw off the cloak and went to find a long stick to jab the knot, but at least it was a dark night - the new moon, Remus knew. James found the stick and froze the tree and they all scrambled into the hole.

Once they were in the tunnel they breathed easier, slapping each other on the shoulders, lighting their wands, laughing at the way their Disillusioned bodies threw strange shadows on the earthy walls. They un-Disillusioned one another and made their way, more stooped than before, down the tunnel and into the building they’d made their clubhouse. 

The Whomping Willow had been planted, the tunnel dug, and the Shrieking Shack built thanks to Dumbledore’s benevolence, specifically so that Remus Lupin, werewolf, could come to Hogwarts. This safe space had been constructed for him to transform, isolated from those he might hurt, up on the hill past Hogsmeade where there were few passersby. Dumbledore had started a few rumors about its haunting, encouraged others. Those who didn’t believe at first were soon persuaded by the terrible cries that emanated from the Shack every full moon.

The furnishings and decor had been chosen to stand up to casual passerby inspection, not trapped-werewolf antics, and over the years, Moony inflicted a lot of damage. The first floor was strewn with debris - smashed chairs and tables with the legs ripped off and gnawed on, shattered glass glittering in the light that made its way through the boarded-up windows. Imprisoned inside the magically sealed walls each full moon with no one but himself, Moony’s instinct to  _ outside freedom run hunt escape go go go _ were thwarted, morphed into scratching and clawing and biting and ravaging the only things available: himself, and the Shack. 

If the pain of the transformation wasn’t terrible enough - and it was terrible, all of his bones and joints snapping apart and growing and reconfiguring themselves - it was at least temporary. The damage he did to himself in his isolated fury was permanent; the morning after the moon, Madame Pomfrey would come and fetch him and bring him back to the Hospital Wing where he would spend the next few days recovering from his new, self-inflicted scratches and werewolf bites. Before it was anything else, the Shrieking Shack was Moony’s alone place, a place of transformation and pain and isolation and destruction; the place of new scars.

Then, miraculously, after nearly two years of increasingly thin excuses and increasingly skeptical friends, Remus woke one morning at the crack of dawn to three frantic Marauders jumping on his bed, waving their Astrology textbooks, apologetic for not having realized sooner that he was sick with  _ werewolfism  _ and of course, now they see all the signs and how big was he - how big were his _ teeth _ ? Did it hurt? How did he get bit? He later learned they had stayed up all night working it out, though never who pulled the damning moon chart. That morning he sat up in bed, moved his legs so Sirius didn’t crush them, and dazedly listened as all three of his friends - the first three friends he’d ever made in his young life - earnestly promised to find a cure, to bring him chocolate, to do his _ homework _ \- whatever would make things better for him, their friend, their brother the werewolf. Also, they were going to become Animagi like Minne McGoogles so they could keep him company at the full moon. Also, also what did he think about the nickname Moony? It ties in nicely with that thing from Charms yesterday… Remus, in his worst moments, never quite got over the feeling that day had been a false waking and everything since was all a wonderful dream. 

Shortly after their lycanthropic revelations cleared the air of secrets, James and Sirius approached Remus with a familiar gleam in their eyes, asking about the Shrieking Shack and before he knew it, all four Marauders were ensconced under the Invisibility Cloak (a little less leg giving them away in those days) shuffling down to the grounds and under the Willow’s frozen branches, into the tunnel and the Shack itself, somehow changed by the presence of his laughing friends, pleased beyond measure to take in the clubhouse just spooky enough to be manly, just subterfuge enough to make their presence there a grand prank, clapping each other on the shoulders and wondering why they didn’t come here before now .

Moony, as Remus had begun thinking of his werewolf form, disliked going upstairs, which meant that once they’d navigated the wreckage of the first floor, the Marauders could hang out safely in the big bedroom that took up most of the landing, sprawling on the four-poster bed, stashing supplies in the dresser, and generally making themselves at home. Today, there was a stack of boxes and flat parcels wrapped rather untidily in old issues of the Daily Prophet heaped on the bed. Sirius ran over and whooped.

“Are these all for moi?” he asked, already ripping the paper off one.

“You absolute dog,” said James, lighting a branch of candles with a wave of his wand. “Can you not even wait for an answer?”

But Sirius didn’t answer because he was staring openmouthed at the image of the red haired man sporting a red and blue lightning strike painted across his face on the flat white cardboard square.

“Which one is it?” asked Peter.

“You were supposed to open the big one first you fool,” said James. “That’s why it’s the biggest, it’s obviously the most important.”

“Er… my Muggle cousin said he was quite good,” said Remus, hovering by the door.

“It’s… Muggle music?” asked Sirius, in barely more than a whisper, turning the package over, grey eyes taking in every part of the object.

“He’s called David Bowie,” said Remus, the same moment James said:

“Yeah mate, they’re these weird flat dics and the muggles put music in them somehow - no idea, really, something about the little bumpies, really it’s incredible what they come up with - and then they put them in these cool packages with the names of the songs on them and crazy pictures that don’t move. Usually they run on this machine that runs on lektricity, but that doesn’t work at Hogwarts. Pete and I found this one in a weird shonky shop in Diagon Alley and wound the magic up again. Remus got the albums. Here,” as he spoke James heaved the largest package - an enormous, unwrapped cornucopia of a speaker perched atop a mess of newspaper - over to the dresser and dropped it, concluding his monologue with a  _ thunk _ . Sirius looked at him over the top of  _ Aladdin Sane _ . 

“Well let’s have it then, ” he said, jerking his head at the paper. James ripped the paper off. Peter sat at the foot of the bed, next to the pile of still wrapped gifts - all of them the same flat square shape of muggle records. Remus still hovered by the door, inexplicably fluttery-gutted. 

James had done most of the magicking, and Peter, everyone agreed, couldn’t be trusted to pick out records so it had fallen to Remus, as the summer waned, to approach his cousin Rob - a 19-year-old university student from London with one dangly earring Rermus privately considered the be the height of cool. He didn’t know about Remus’ wizardry or lycanthropy and as a result the two spend a bizarrely ordinary (for Remus, at least) afternoon in Muggle London, perusing the racks in several tiny record stores across a neighborhood he’d never visited before. He’d wound up with a dozen-odd records, picked by advice and some instinct he couldn’t name. The one in Sirius’ hands was one of four by a muggle called David Bowie, who Rob had raved about for the better part of the day, throwing around odd phrases like “raunchy glam rock” that Remus didn’t quite understand but sounded undeniably Sirius, who was sliding the record out of its sleeve now, looking quivery with eagerness, examining both sides, running his eyes over the absurdly baroque gramophone James had unwrapped, fitting the pieces together, putting the record on. James tapped it with his wand, and it began to spin. The first tinkling notes of a song began. They held their collective breath and listened.

_ Time,  _

_ he's waiting in the wings _

_ He speaks of senseless things _

_ His script is you and me, boy _

_ Time- _

“I think that’s the wrong side, mate,” said Peter, examining the sleeve Sirius set down.

“It most certainly is not. The next song is about me,” said Sirius, swaying to the music, and Remus felt the knot in his gut loosen. He let out his breath in a noisy gust and Sirius was looking over at him, face flushed, reaching out, pulling him into the room, into a half-hug half-slow-dance. Remus let Sirius press their bodies together for a moment then pulled away, embarrassed, and went to sit on the bed, away from Peter. He felt hot all the places Sirius had touched him.

“You should unwrap the rest,” he said, to cover his awkwardness, surveying the packages. Sirius, who was now wiggling his hips with his eyes closed, smiled.

“You unwrap them, Moony,” he said.

“Hey! We spent time wrapping all those!” complained Peter.

“So you can unwrap them too, what does it matter?” asked Sirius.

“It’s the principal of the thing,” said Peter. 

Sirius danced over and ripped the paper off of one package, barely glancing at it before dumping it back on the pile and returning to his own little world. Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. Remus shrugged an apology before ripping the paper off an album emblazoned with four suited men, striding across a crosswalk. They let the music wash over them for a bit. It was all banging pianos and wailing guitars and frenetic voices; Sirius was shaking his head intently up and down, hair flying everywhere, the white of his grin glinting through. 

“This is brilliant,” he finally declared. “A muggle made this? Brilliant.”

“I know,” said James. He was laying on the floor, splayed out. “I think it’s all melted crude oil, Muggles seem to love the stuff.”

“Not the record, dummy, the music!” said Sirius.

“It’s pretty wild,” ventured Peter.

It was cacophonous; Sirius had figured out how to turn up the volume. Remus slapped his wand away. 

“Villagers?” Remus reminded him. Sirius must have really been enjoying himself because he acquiesced without a fuss, aiming a brilliant grin at Remus.

“You picked out all these records Moony?” he asked. 

“My muggle cousin did most of the work. You remember Rob? Nice guy, knows a lot of muggle stuff. I mean, obviously. It was James’ idea - he did all the magic, I just, you know, got the albums.” Remus was not blushing. Since when could he not talk to Sirius? They had been normal at the Feast, and in detention, and cleaning up all that Tentacula pus. This was Sirius. They were friends. This was just a birthday present, nothing more.

“Brilliant,” repeated Sirius, closing his eyes again. “Great birthday gift. Spot on mates. We’ll have to smuggle it back into the dorms. This is too good to only listen at ritual times.”

“Speaking of rituals -” James began, sitting up.

“Oh this is it!” said Sirius, flapping a hand to shush him.

“What?” said Peter, confused.

“The Prettiest  _ Star _ ,” said Sirius, sweeping his hair back over his shoulders.  _ No way he isn’t working spells on it, _ thought Remus. 

“Vain,” said James, throwing a piece of wadded up newspaper at him. It bounced off Sirius’ head; he merely flapped his hand at James again.

“Speaking of rituals,” said James, “it’s time for the final phase of the Big Halloween Plan.”

“You really don’t have to -” started Remus.

“Which we are  _ doing _ ,” James insisted, cutting him off.

“Which  _ you _ are doing,” muttered Peter.

“Which _ we _ are  _ doing _ ,” declared James, sitting up now, “on this Hallows Eve, gentlemen, tonight is the night!” 

No one responded. Sirius had climbed on the dresser to sit next to the turntable, and was facing it like a plant turns towards the sun. Peter was nervously shaking his head as he unwrapped one of the packages, despite his earlier protestations (Queen’s A Night At the Opera according to a flowing blue script), and Remus was gnawing on a cuticle and trying to come up with a last-ditch plan to stop them. The problem with the Marauders was that arguments like  _ it’s unbelievably illegal  _ and _ it’s incredibly dangerous _ and  _ you might die _ weren’t really persuasive. What else was there? 

Like the mystery of who pulled the moon chart, Remus never learned who suggested that, in animal form, an Animagus would be safe from a werewolf attack, or that they might also keep said werewolf from endangering himself. It was an insane idea. For one, who was to say he wouldn’t be a danger to them? As far as he was concerned, Moony was a monster - a danger to everyone, no matter what shape they were.

The good news, so far, was that the magic remained too difficult; they had been hung up for a whole year on the potion that opened the spell. Alas, when they’d returned to Hogwarts they discovered that after months of pinching rare ingredients and carefully steeping them over magical fires, they had managed their first draught correctly. Despite Remus’ protestations, James, Sirius, and Peter had each taken a dose, the first night of term.

His direst warnings lost some sting when nothing happened aside from strange dreams, which all three boys flatly refused to describe. The next portion of the spell involved meditating through the initial Animagus transformation. Those who survived their shift to animal-shape and turned themself successfully back human-shaped became full-fledged Animagi, able to change shapes at will, wand or no wand. But the initial transformation was the sticker and, according to every text he’d gotten his hands on, was fatal almost all of the time (if you count “being stuck as an animal forever” as being fatal - if not the fatality rate was half but then so was the beastiality rate). 

“Really a shame to sit and breathe and be all quiet with all this good music to listen to,” said Sirius finally, still in his own private world. 

Remus had never been more grateful for Sirius’ endless restless energy. James, when he brought his whole attention to a thing, worked with a steady, banked fire that was inexhaustible; Peter would eventually do anything that James did. But Sirius, bless him, could no more meditate for an hour than he could sit through a dinner with his extended family without making a scene. Every time they’d attempted meditation since the start of term, Sirius’ insatiable need to wriggle had resulted in a row and, once, with a visit to Madame Pomfrey with an interesting array of boils. 

“And I think there’s firewhiskey in the dresser,” Sirius continued. “I mean, I’m all for doing illegal magic and helping Moony, it’s just the sitting and breathing quietly until that happens part that’s impossible. And it’s my birthday.”

“The firewhiskey is for celebration later,” said James, “and I’ve been thinking.” 

“There’s a change of pace,” joked Peter.

“Thinking about calling this crazy plan off?” said Remus, grasping at straws.

“I’ve been thinking, and I did some research,” said James, ignoring them, standing up to pace.

“Who are you, Moony?” said Peter, trying again.

“I did some research,” said James, who was truly impossible to derail. “About dancing meditation.”

“I am  _ not _ dancing,” said Peter, suddenly dark.

“Wait you mean I don’t have to  _ sit _ ?” asked Sirius, opening his eyes and coming back fully to the conversation. Remus thought it was rather like someone had brought a lamp into the room.

“No sitting at all,” said James, grinning. “It’s just what it sounds like.”

“Dancing? Any kind of dancing?” asked Sirius.

“Any kind of dancing,” confirmed James. “I found a thing from some ancient monks in the Library, over in the ‘alternative’ section. Pretty woo-woo, lots of talking about ‘finding another state’ and ‘getting into the body’ and a whole bunch of other mumbo jumbo. But then I remembered, you’re a bloody nutter and I thought huh, that just might work.” This time Sirius threw a wadded up paper at James, who deflected it easily.

“That could work,” said Sirius, crumpling up another wad of paper with his thoughtful face on. James was practically vibrating with possibility. Peter’s eyes darted between the other boys. Remus rubbed his suddenly aching head.

“I know,” said James, smug, “that’s why I suggested it.”

“Do I still have to do the clear-your-mind-and-breathe-funny thing?” asked Sirius.

“I mean the principal is the same. You’re trying to get into the Essential Self but you have to breathe into it because your self is a meat body. You’re looking to sufficiently lever your concentration and wand power to offset the viciousness of the transformation - just no wand in hand, you know, you have to also compensate for that. And then obviously solve for z. There’s no knowing how much bodyweight will be a factor which is why so many fools screw it up. Gamps’ #2 my boy,” said James Potter, Transfiguration prodigy and not-so-secret favorite of Minerva McGonagall. “Focus on your breath and your body and the transformation and the spell, like we were doing, just keep moving instead of staying still.” 

“So just don’t stop dancing and don’t stop breathing?” asked Sirius, who never learned in a classroom a spell he couldn’t do better by instinct.

“Don’t stop dancing and don’t stop breathing,” confirmed James.

“I am  _ not _ dancing,” said Peter.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Pete,” said Sirius.

“I mean, we won’t make you, mate,” said James. “I just think this will work.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” said Sirius.

“It  _ could hurt _ ,” ground out Remus. “You could  _ die in agony _ . Or be _ stuck as an animal forever. _ ”

“Couldn’t hurt,” said James. Sirius rubbed his hands together, standing up, gathering his hair up into a bun, skewering it with his wand.

“Think about this for a minute,” said Remus, trying to marshal his Prefect-ness.

“No, Moony, we’re done thinking,” said Sirius.

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of -”

“And it’s time for action!” James declared. “And dancing!”

“What should we start with?” asked Sirius, coming over to the bed to shuffle through the unwrapped albums, surveying his options.

“Up to you, birthday boy,” replied James.

“I am really not dancing,” repeated Peter, squeaking as his voice broke. Sirius shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he said, stopping the turntable, putting the new album on, pulling his wand out of his bun so his hair slithered back down over his shoulders (Remus swore he did it just for the effect) and tapping the turntable so it started again.

“Are you sure?” asked James. Peter shook his head, violently. 

“If this works we’ll help you with it after,” he promised, undeterred. Peter sat back with a huff and crossed his arms.

“Please don’t,” said Remus, a tad desperately.

James came over and clapped a hand on his shoulder, hazel eyes kind. 

“Today is not the day we die, Moony,” he said.

“How do you _ know _ -” began Remus, only to be cut off by Sirius, who was already swaying to the music. Elton John, he recognized vaguely.

“We won’t let you down, Remus,” said Sirius, quietly, catching his eye. 

Remus felt startled by the use of his name - Sirius almost always called him Moony - but now Sirius turning away, and James clapped Remus once more on the shoulder and it was too late, there was nothing he could do to stop them, and James nodded as though he had read Remus’ thoughts and agreed, then grinned. 

“Just keep the music coming, lads,” he said, stepping back.

The two dark haired boys each pocketed their wands, and turned to face one another, grinning, and bowed as though they were about to duel. The song was building, swelling with strings and drums; it was a love sonce, Remus recognized, but love was complicated, he realized, as Elton crooned  _ how wonderful life is, when you’re in the world _ and his two unlikely, brilliant, loyal, brave friends closed their eyes and started to sway, beginning the dance that would, maybe, complete the impossible magic they were attempting - life and limb be damned - to stand by him at his most monstrous.

James and Sirius could make anything look cool, even dancing alone with their eyes closed in a grubby bedroom to a sappy piano ballad. The thing about cool dancing is that it isn’t particularly interesting to watch for a long time, nor is it a good distraction for someone worried about the bodily safety of said dancers. 

Once it became clear that nothing was happening immediately, Remus and Peter dug out the chocolate, firewhiskey, and Exploding Snap deck from the dresser and proceeded to play Drunk Snap, a game of Siriusly single-minded purpose: get everyone in the vicinity Drunk. Remus, who didn’t like the feeling of being out of control of his own mind, generally made sure he was out of the vicinity when it came time to play. Not tonight.

By the time the third album finished, (Abbey Road, which made Remus feel a kind of way but Peter declared “utter nonsense” and refused to finish, followed by Dark Side of the Moon, chosen for its name and cover art and approved of by both inebriated teenage boys, then back to David Bowie’s eponymous album, which they agreed was easier on the ears than Aladdin Sane, though no more comprehensible) it was gone three in the morning and still nothing had happened. 

Peter, who’d spent the last hour spouting off increasingly belligerent outbursts to the effect of “of course they’d just ditch me like that,” was passed out on the bed and Moony was laying on the floor, listening to David Bowie cry _ Oh, to capture just one drop of all the ecstasy that swept that afternoon, _ a little way off from where his friends still danced, letting his sleepy, sloppy mind wander.

There, drifting on the edge of unconsciousness, Remus saw (dreamed?) Sirius and James begin to glow; subtle at first, a ghostly, pale gold, outlining each of them flickering and guttering like candles. The music, too, was changing, swelling and discordant and arriving directly in his brain, bypassing his ears as his friends began glowing brighter and brighter and brighter until their shapes became blotted out by their light and they were twin flames that seared his eyeballs; they flashed and grew and behind them through the doorway loomed an alarmingly deep darkness - not the landing, he knew with certainty, nor the stairs, but some other, deeper darkness, and the light that was James and Sirius shrunk and shrunk and the darkness yawed and then, just as the glow shrunk to embers threatening ashes, a pinprick of light appeared, out of the darkness, and another and another like stars but then the stars were congealing themselves; gold and whitesilver and burning blue; light and also a weird inside-outness of light, less illumination than darkness turned askance, and there were forms made of the notlight, coming together into two giant shapes and Remus awoke or came to on the grubby floor of Shrieking Shack to find, looming over him, an enormous hoofed creature with a towering rack of horns and the Grim, throwing shadows behind them in the dying light of the ordinary candles burning down on the dresser.

Remus screamed. He wasn’t proud of it, but he was frightened and it helped with that.

Peter came awake with a start, jerking and rolling off the bed. The dog - not the Grim, but an enormous shaggy black canine, nearly the size of a bear from his vantage point on the floor - leapt, pinning Remus, wagging its tail and licking his face enthusiastically. Remus started giggling, somewhat hysterical, trying to get his arms between Sirius’ slobber - it had to be Sirius, there was no mistaking him - and his own mouth.

“Okay, okay, you are a dog Sirius you did it you’re still alive get OFF me you giant mutt Merlin’s pants you’re heavy and your breath stinks you dog I get it you’re a dog,” Remus mumbled, slurring a little bit. He had won (more or less) Drunk Snap earlier. “Damn, you’re gigantic what are we gonna do with you if you’re stuck like this? Can’t smuggle you into the dorm so good. What’s with James? He’s even bigger than you are! Look at him! He’s huge!” 

Sirius-the-dog whuffed - in agreement? - shifting so he was laying on the floor with his head in Remus’ lap. Remus, who had always had a soft spot for overlarge dogs, scratched him behind the ear without his brain even registering it as he tried to marshall his thoughts, looking a long way up at James-the-horned-deer ( _ stag? _ suggested some voice in the back of his head). His rational mind didn’t quite seem to be responding. There had been all the Firewhiskey, and then there was Moony to consider - Moony was always closer to the surface in the Shack and right now, his nose was quivering with new smells, tantalizing smells. Trying to get his brain to work was like trying to run through one of Sirius’ Sticking Charms.

Peter came to stand next to James-the-Stag; his watery eyes were nervous, darting back and forth between the two Animagi. He put out a tentative hand to brush the fur at the stag’s neck, who let him. 

“Can you understand us?” asked Remus. Sirius-the-dog barked and James-the-Stag inclined his head. That was good news. There was something nagging at Remus, something he was supposed to do now.

“So, y’remember who y’are?” asked Peter. He was listing to one side as he stood. “And y’know us?” 

The Animagi both nodded their heads. Remus remembered.

“So now you’re gonna change back right?” he asked, hauling himself to his feet, ignoring Sirius-the-dog’s hurt look as he pushed him aside. 

Remus stood there, a bit unsteadily, looking at the two animals. They had done it, but only half of it. Scratching Sirius behind his ears was not going to get anyone anywhere good. James-the-stag eyes’ were rimmed by markings that looked like his spectacles, just as McGonagall’s did - they would never hear the end of it, or at least, not if they survived. Remus had never wanted to hear his friend gloat so badly.

The stag and the dog shifted in a way Moony recognized - they wanted to go out and run and they could not obey those instincts right now, no more than Moony could. They had to change back. They  _ must _ . There was nothing Remus could do to force them to complete the transformation. Except maybe one thing.

“So, no prank? You’re not becoming the youngest Animagi ever?” he asked. 

A challenge was better than a request with these two; Peter was nodding vaguely in agreement. Sirius-the-dog growled at him. Remus stuck his tongue out and turned away to flip through the albums, acting casual, heart racing with fear. Actually, there was one other thing he could do.

He hadn’t played the song yet, but he’d had plenty of time this evening to study Sirius’ gifts and he knew exactly where it was. Pulling it out of the sleeve with the yellow-haired doll-Bowie, trying to figure out which side was which and how to get the damn thing to stop and start again as he wanted it to, ignoring all the voices in his head and the shifting animal sounds and smells clambering for his attention, ignoring his pounding terror of losing them, the crushing feeling of sheer helplessness, the wondering one that asked if maybe this was a queer way to go about it, Moony’s nose insisting they investigate the new creature smells, prey or pack or something he didn’t want to consider at all - and he put on the song  _ Changes _ and turned -

braced against the dresser, glaring at his two best friends, two would-be Animagi boys who would, by all rational prediction, be trapped as a stag and a giant, shaggy black dog, never to grow up into men and wizards, slowly losing the humaness of their minds until they were gone to him as people. And then he would be alone. 

They turned to look at each other - it was definitely James and Sirius in there - and closed their eyes. At first nothing happened. Remus tried to remember to breathe as the beat picked up around him, cheerful. Not at all what he’d expected. Was that a saxophone? Peter climbed back onto the bed, clinging like it was a liferaft. Then a mote of un-light here, a glimmer there, and the building glow until they were briefly blinded, as the hushed piano of the second verse surged into the chorus and there were James and Sirius again, and now they were shouting and hugging each other - from the corner of his eye he saw James jump on the bed to tackle Peter - and Sirius was coming to pull Remus into an embrace, Sirius’ hand cupped around Remus’ elbow his breath hot on Remus’ ear, and then they were toppling over and the four of them were on the bed shouting and wrestling and they had  _ done it James and Sirius were Animagi _ . 

“Nice antlers, Prongs,” said Sirius, finally, when they had all calmed down enough to speak.

“Prongs?” asked Peter.

“Mister Prongs for special occasions,” confirmed Sirius, grinning wildly. 

“As you like, Mister Padfoot,” replied James, equally smug.

“Is this some weird telepathic Animagus nonsense?” asked Peter, slurring a little. The two dark haired boys shook their heads as one.

Sirius could  _ feel  _ Padfoot, could still sense with his heightened smells as he relaxed back into his boy body and let the colors wash back into his vision. Firewhiskey and tallow and dust and plastic and _ wolf _ and sweat, the tang of each of their bodies blending but he remembered as Padfoot he could smell them each distinctly. The note of wolf was strong enough to carry through still, the unfamiliar press of  _ alpha _ on his nose. He wanted to flop on his back and expose his belly to Remus, who smelled of  _ canine and pack and hunt _ and also, bizarrely,  _ chocolate and parchment _ and it was enough to drive Padfoot-Sirius mad, laying next to him on the bed all unfocused, tawny curls sticking up where he’d fallen asleep on them, staring at him with unfocused amber eyes. Sirius sat up.

“Have you been drinking, Moony?” he asked, delighted.

“Ugh, now everyone has a nickname except me, this is just great,” grumbled Peter.

“Was worried about you…” Remus mumbled. Now that the excitement had passed and he’d found himself on the bed, all the worry and booze he’d put his body through added up and sleep threatened to take him. Sirius’ grin only widened.

“Hear that Prongsie? Moony doubted us,” he said.

“Never bet against a Marauder,” said James, mock-grave. 

“I can’t believe you just ditched me like that,” said Peter, still grumbling.

“Ditching someone and inviting them to join you are mutually exclusive and I’m pretty sure we invited you to join us,” said James, in his best prim voice.

“You’re the one who decided you were too good for dancing!” said Sirius, a bit hotly.

“Besides,” added James, “now that we’ve done it it’ll be easy next time. We’ll help you!”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see about that,” said Peter.

“Oh ye of little faith, did you not just see me do it? Do you need me to do it again?” asked James, already standing. 

“So you can just do it now? You just change like  _ poof _ !?” asked Peter, taking the bait.

“Let’s see, shall we?” James said, crossing back to the open space. With a small  _ pop _ , he disappeared and the stag - Prongs - returned, looming, and then disappeared with another, rather louder  _ POP _ .

“Harder coming back than going but not the worst,” James declared. 

“More like a ‘pop’,” said Peter. James looked at him quizzically.

“It’s more like a pop than a poof! Pop. POP!” 

“Aha, so Mooney’s not the only one who’s been at the booze. No wonder you’re such a grump. Leaving you behind, as if we ever would. Where is it then, let’s have it,” said James, holding out a hand. Peter giggled, always happy to be reassured by James, and pulled the half-drunk bottle out from under the bed.

“Can’t believe you wankers got sloshed without us on my birthday,” said Sirius.

“Not a  _ fun _ drunk,” muttered Remus from his sprawled position. “ _ Worried _ drunk.”

“We’re fine I told you there was nothing to worry about,” said Sirius, smiling down at him.

“Just because it turned out okay this time doesn’t mean it was a good plan,” said Remus, in little more than a mumble.

“If only I had a galleon for every time I heard you say that, Moony.”

“You don’t need any more galleons, you overgrown mutt.”

“Already it begins, the besmirching of my character. I’ll have you know I am no mutt. I am a hound of the purest breed.”

“Mutt,” grumbled Remus.

“Butt,” added Peter, giggling. 

James choked on the glup of Firewhiskey he had just taken. Sirius snatched the bottle from him with what he clearly thought was a superior expression. He wiggled a bit, looking for a more comfortable spot. Remus shifted slightly to make room - or that’s what he meant to do. Somehow, he wound up curled against Sirius’ back, and before he could shift away Sirius settled back against him, pinning him against the headboard. He was too tired to struggle. He relaxed, and Sirius smiled at him, a loose, unguarded grin, rare for Sirius but, Remus realized, natural for Padfoot. The name slotted into place so easily Remus didn’t notice; maybe in each of them there was a duality. What did that mean for Remus and Moony? He let the thought sleet past him and began to warm, finally, to a feeling of safety. They came back for him. Sirius and James hadn’t left him and Peter - their friends - here alone. They would never do that.

“You really  _ fucking _ did it,” said Peter. James and Sirius looked at him, impressed. Peter rarely swore.

“Best prank ever,” said James, snatching the bottle back from Sirius. “We’re brilliant.”

“It wasn’t bad, overall,” said Sirius. “Bit boring in the middle, but pretty nice there at the end.”

“If you ever risk your lives like that again I’ll kill you,” mumbled Remus, surrounded by his three best friends, two of whom could transform into animals at will to help him, one of whom was stroking the short hair behind his ear in a way that made him want to melt with pleasure. _ I don’t deserve this, _ thought Remus Lupin, well-loved werewolf.

“Happy Halloween, mates,” said James brandishing the empty Firewhiskey bottle. “and many more to come!” 

“And better pranks! And Davie Bowie! And Moony!” said Sirius.

“Moony, Prongs, Padfoot, and my nickname soon!” slurred Peter.

“SNznnnnk…” snored Remus. It was, in all, the best Halloween he’d ever have.


End file.
